


Blackbird Fly

by Loverman8



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Canon Compliant, Depression, Drama, Existentialism, Horror, Humor, Magical Realism, Multi, Murder, Not Canon Compliant
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-25
Updated: 2020-12-25
Packaged: 2021-03-10 18:48:07
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,469
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28321878
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Loverman8/pseuds/Loverman8
Summary: To Harry Potter, life has always been a game of reasonably low stakes. Untouchable by most, unwanted by all, he has learned to play and play well.When a mysterious letter arrives from a strange school in a strange world, will Harry succeed in a world where to succeed means to win it all?
Kudos: 4





	Blackbird Fly

**Author's Note:**

> My first story! Not beta read, so tolerance is appreciated.
> 
> Enjoy...

It was just him and Lily on the tower. No wonder; it was freezing and he had to wrap an extra layer of robes around himself even with his warming charm. If she was cold, she didn’t show it. 

“Lily, please. It’s late-“  
“Early, actually.”  
“Fine, early, Lily, this is insanity.”

It wasn’t raining - that would have been more dramatic. There was some snow melting on the ground, leftover from the storm earlier that week, but the sky was dry and clear. 

The stars were bright.

She finally turns to face him and her eyes aren clouded. Her hair, normally the vibrant color of flames, is a deeper red in the dark. 

“Insanity? That’s not what you were saying a week ago.” 

Her tone is teasing but it is betrayed by the expression of solemnity on her face. It occurs to him then that she doesn’t want to scare him - it warms him but only a little. 

The cold surges. He renews his charm. 

“It was different when it was hypothetical. A research project, an opportunity to study new books-“

“We ARE studying new magic, Sev.” Her eyes seemed to glow in the dark. Despite himself, he couldn’t look away.

“We’re touching the wild, the arcane-“

“Exactly! We shouldn’t be doing this.”

“Come on, Sev, aren’t you just a little curious?” Her lip quirks, now enough to be a smirk but enough for him to notice. 

She is beautiful when she smiles, he thinks. She is beautiful always.

He squared his shoulders.

“Lily. This is dangerous.”

She looks so dismayed then, as if he has fallen short of her expectations and she can’t quite believe it. It reminds him strongly of Dumbledore, disapproval radiating from her person and disappointment shining in her eyes. 

He scowls reflexively.

“I’m not stupid, Sev, and I’m not blind. War is coming. There’s no room for household charms on a battlefield. At least, not the ones I have to look forward to.”

She chuckles mirthlessly. 

“We need dangerous.” 

He doesn’t try to deny it, but still an icy terror grips him at the thought.

“It is a war you shouldn’t be involved in…“ He starts but she cuts him off.

“I AM involved, Severus! By virtue of being muggleborn I am already involved. People like Lucius Malfoy and your friends Mulciber and Avery are getting bolder, and it’s only a matter of time.”

She’s wrong. She has to be. If she keeps her head down, stops fighting all the time - essentially squandering her inane Gryffindor tendencies, she’d be fine. Happy, even. With him. 

She’s comfortably the brightest witch of her age. She could get a job in the Ministry; granted, most of the pure-bloods in their year have already been poached. The bias is unfortunate, but it’s there, and there’s nothing either of them can do about it.

She should know that. Know that resistance, that this insane recklessness is pointless! In fact, he’s sure she would know that if not for her housemates corrupting influence. Stupid Gryffindors.

He sneers before he can stop himself, his normally ironclad control slipping as it always did with her. Melting like the snow. But it fades as he considers what to do now. 

She’s pushing boundaries, crossing lines, he thinks, and he’s not strong enough to stop her. 

He realizes he is staring and hurries to answer, belatedly remembering something she had said. 

“They’re not my friends.”

She scoffs and turns away. 

He knows she doesn’t understand his tenuous alliance with the pure-bloods in his year. It’s understandable, she’s not a Slytherin, she can’t comprehend the sacrifices necessary for him to stay safe. He needs to make nice with them. After all, it is only his considerable talent in potions that allows him to avoid making deeper commitments to the older students. 

What’s a few meaningless Hufflepuffs poisoned in the face of that? A slip of this or that into their food buys him freedom. Freedom to be her friend. 

That’s what’s important. 

Regardless, he needs to get her to stop. To breathe.

“Dumbledore wouldn’t approve.” It was a mockery of his usual sentiments. He hates Dumbledore, hates his prejudice and blatant favoritism. But now it was all he had.

A moment passes quietly into the night.

As the silence deepens, he doesn’t need to see her face to know it is a lost cause - she has decided and he can either be there for it or leave. It’s not really a choice.

It’s unfair of her to use him this way; he cannot say no to her, she knows he cannot say no to her, she drags him face-first into the jaws of the beast. Every time. Reluctant or no he is pushed off the edge and pulled into oblivion.

Severus has never had a choice.

As he jerks his head in an approximation of a nod, her smile lights up her face.

No choice at all.

With one last meaningful look in his direction, she sets off towards the runic circle they’ve spent months perfecting. Trying to perfect, at any rate- while Severus normally hates imperfection in his work he is hardly working with the proper materials. A book there, a passage from the Restricted Section, a word from Professor Babbling - it’s all very finicky. 

It makes him uncomfortable to know it isn’t ideal, even as his breath quickens in anticipation. 

The moon hangs so low he imagines he can reach out and touch it.

“One more minute, Sev. One more, and it’ll be ready.”

What about them, he thinks. Are they ready? 

Would they ever be?

The knife’s edge presses into his side. 

Her eyes fall closed.

And they step into the circle.

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Petunia couldn’t stomach looking into his eyes.

So much like her sister’s.

Her **dead** sister’s.

That cursed letter. Only half a page, enough to explain that Lily was dead (along with that husband of hers) and that the baby was theirs to raise. A half-hearted apology as well: it seemed he too remembered her request from all those years ago.

The memory brought a sour taste to her mouth. She sneered to chase it away.

Now she even had to take care of the brat! Only until he was eleven, though, because of course he was to be taken to _them_. He was good enough, _special_ enough to be guaranteed an acceptance to that.. monkey house. The school that had taken her sister and spit her out, changed and different and _freakish_.

 ** _Dead_**.

She felt unwilling tears creep into her eyes. The world blurred. Dead and gone. Her beautiful baby sister, her bright-eyed Lily. How could this have happened?

She snatched up the letter. Fingers shaking, she found only an approximation of what she was looking for.

Dead and gone. That was the gist of it; he skipped over the technicalities, for that she supposed she should have been grateful. She didn’t really want to know what happened in the room where her sister was murdered.

Vernon was still asleep.

Murdered she was, too. One of their own went rogue, went crazy, went.. she looked at the letter again. Dark.

She flicked on the lights above the kitchen counter.

Paling, but only for a moment, she considered the situation. Here she was, allowed access to her... nephew. The Boy-Who-Lived, as he was apparently labeled. Boy who lived indeed - lived where her sister had not. Bile rose.

She could send him away. Take him to an orphanage or foster home; details were distant and irrelevant. She didn’t want him here.

He was unnatural; she could almost feel as much just looking at him. He didn’t shift in his sleep. He made no sound.

She heard crickets outside, and realized she had to decide what to do.

Re-reading the note, she swallowed. Vernon wouldn’t understand. He would grumble about this for days. He would complain fastidiously- she would have to cook.

The decision was made for her. The baby had been left.

————————————————————————

Cassandra Trelawney had been a Seer. She had visions in four dimensions, twisting and spiraling.

Sybill scoffed into her tea.

She, alone, knew the truth - it was a heady burden. She saw in the future what she saw in the past and what she saw was great men.

Cassandra Trelawney had been a fool.

Nevertheless, true prophecy was meant for more dimensions. She closed her kitchen doors manually, watching how they pressed into each other and the wall. Like a spider web.

Despite having the Gift herself, Sybill didn’t understand Albus’ fascination with prophecy. No, wait- she did.

He fancied himself a great man.

Despite this failing, it was quite possible to be fond of Albus. She wasn’t sure if she herself was. Just that many others were.

She scoffed into her tea, and smiled down at the ripples she made.


End file.
